7th Division Bleach Novels & Stories

I would stumble through the door, drunk and disoriented, while Ethan waited for me in the living room. He would clean me up, making sure that I would not choke on my own vomit. I would complain about how annoyingly fussy he was, but he never got mad. He would just smile and ask, "What if I take care of you like this for the rest of my life?" His eyes were so bright, like the surface of a lake. In that moment, through the haze of alcohol clouding my mind, I felt a rare trace of fear. That light was too pure and bright, revealing me for who I was.

I cried out, terrified and in pain. She half shifted, something people generally avoided doing, pinning me down on the ground. “I'll kill you before you hurt my niece!” She snarled quietly at me. I could feel blood begin to trickle down my body as I heard the sound of a weapon being drawn. Instantly I felt a searing, burning pain on my chest right where my heart was. Whatever it was, surely a dagger based on the size, it was laced with wolfsbane. Wolfsbane was one of our biggest weaknesses. Wolfsbane was also something that could hinder healing. I screamed out in intense pain at the searing sensation, tears streaming down my face, blood down my body.

"Almost... there..." The door hissed open, but as they stepped into the sterile, fluorescent light of the bunker, they weren't alone. Standing in the center of the room was Seven. She wasn't wearing her mercenary gear anymore. She was dressed in a simple white lab coat with her eyes red from crying. Behind her, a dozen screens displayed the global impact of the Needles. London, New York, Tokyo; all of them were being pierced by the violet pillars. "Seven?" Maya said, her voice trembling. "Did you come here to finish the job?"

He let out a weak smile knowing he now had a lead and he stood up and left his office. The murder of Aaron George was still a fresh topic on everyone's lips when the mysterious killer struck again,this time it was a top elite businessman and the owner of a pharmaceutical company called Ramson pharmaceuticals. Mr Ramson was found dead in a park with similar stab wounds with that of the former victim. Awhite, partially bloody rose was placed on his chest, his dull eyes widely open, he was dressed in a cooperate wear with a white long-sleeved shirt. Visitors who came to the park found him the next morning and alerted the police.

"This is a poison. If anyone keeps drinking this for, let's say… eight months to one and a half years, depending on when they started, and depending on the dose given—and the person's immune system—if luck isn't on their side, they won't even remember how to breathe. The person's heart will just... stop. And it will look like a natural brain failure." I gripped the paper. I looked at the list of chemicals. The names were long and complex, but the result was simple. "Wolf’s Bane extract—does it bleach?" I asked. "Nope. It doesn't. Not alone. "But with this…" she pointed at a text on the paper, "…and this mixed together, it bleaches. Or gives the bleach effect. Why do you ask?" "Nothing," I sa

"You know what, Marcel? I've decided to make peace with you. I won't cause Mom and Dad any more trouble because of this." "Sure," I answered lightly. He continued, "To show you my sincerity, I'd like to give you a gift. Stay right here for a moment. I'll be right back. Don't move around, okay?" I nodded again and stood still, waiting for him, just as he wanted. When I saw Henry enter the small surveillance room connected to the swimming pool, I couldn't help but smile. I knew he wouldn't disappoint me—he was planning to kill me. A few minutes later, he returned empty-handed. I pretended not to know anything, saving him from any questions.

I was locked in. White. The walls were white. The ceiling. The sheets. The room smelled like bleach and something deeper. Like blood. Like antiseptic. Like survival. Then I felt it. My face. Wrapped. Bandaged. As if someone had tried to patch a shattered vase with gauze and hope. My skin itched under the layers, tight and raw. My chest felt wrapped in something stiff. My breathing ragged. What happened? What the hell happened? I squeezed my eyes shut. Willed my mind to rewind. Rewind. Rewind.

I smiled, though it was thin and humorless. "I'm blind, brother," I said. "Not stupid." Alessandro He always said that. Like blindness was just an inconvenience, not a vulnerability. But I knew better. I knew how the wolves circled when they sensed blood in the water. I moved to the bar cart, poured a measure of whiskey, and downed it in one swallow. The Antwerp job… It had to be clean. Fast. Ruthless. No mistakes. No distractions. And yet — here we were.

"What do you want to know, Bloom?" I shrugged lightly. "Favourite colour—and movie?" Zac's eyes squinted as he chuckled. He hummed for a moment. "Blue and Pulp Fiction." I nodded slowly. "Why blue?" His head cocked to the side as he looked out ahead at the world sprawled out in front of us. "It reminds me of the ocean." I bit on my bottom lip to stop my smile from stretching miles. I would have never seen it coming—Zac Miller being soft and sentimental. It was endearing.

"Go to Aunt Cleo!" Aqua's heart pounded in her chest as she stumbled towards the door, her legs shaking with fear. She glanced back to see her parents fighting valiantly, their magic clashing with the dark energy of their attackers. Milak's elemental fury and Zara's healing light intertwined in a beautiful yet tragic dance of power and sacrifice. But it wasn't enough. Milak fell first, a blast of dark energy striking him down. Zara's scream of anguish pierced the air as she knelt beside him, her light flickering and fading. The witches closed in, their laughter echoing like a chorus of nightmares.